


To Love A Lord

by p1013



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AO3 Fundraiser Auction, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Hale and Lord Stilinski are in love with each other. The only problem is that neither of them knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love A Lord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leenybeanie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leenybeanie/gifts).



* * *

London, England  
1821

* * *

Derek watches. He’s at the edge of the ballroom, a cold drink sweating in his hand, eyes locked on the same figure that he’s been following all night.

He thinks he could walk over, try to smile, try to change things. He’d be willing to do it for him.

But, instead, Derek watches as the lithe youth tilts back his head and laughs, long, graceful fingers pressed against Peter’s sleeve. Watches as Derek’s uncle leans in, smiling, to whisper something into the youth’s ear.

 _Stilinski_ , Derek thinks. _His name is Stilinski. He’s betrothed. And he hates me_.

* * *

“Peter, how you manage to get into these situations, I’ll never understand.” Lord Stilinski - Stiles, to a small group of close friends - says, laughing. He pats Peter’s sleeve again, then leans away.

“It’s the life I live, I’m afraid,” Peter says, mouth cocked in a half-grin. “You can’t be wildly handsome and rich and not have some… misunderstandings.”

“I don’t know, Derek seems to do a good job of avoiding that kind of trouble.”

The ballroom is filled with men and women dressed in their finest, the Stilinski Autumn Ball an annual event that draws the greatest of the _tonne_. Stiles has known, like a pricking against his skin, where Derek’s been the entire night. He sees the Earl of Beacon lurking on the edge of the ballroom. Their eyes meet, and Stiles feels it like a punch to the gut, a roiling mix of lust and confusion and hurt that leaves him reeling internally. Outwardly, he keeps his face still and nods slightly. Derek turns, his shoulders stiff under a somber jacket, and heads out of the room.

“That’s because Derek doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Peter says. He gestures towards the open balcony doors, the porch outside lit with candles and empty except for a few huddled, whispering figures. “Shall we? I have some minor business to discuss with you.”

Stiles shakes off the lingering unease from Derek’s curt exit and steps outside.

“You know I hate to mix business with pleasure,” Stiles says, walking towards the stone railing to lean his long arms against the firm surface. It’s not yet full autumn, but the cold of the stone bites through his thick jacket, helping to dissipate the heat that has gathered beneath his skin.

Peter leans his back against the railing next to Stiles, still smiling. The light from the ballroom catches on the gilt edgings of his coat, sending the light glancing for a brief moment before he shifts.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had much opportunity to talk to you or your father in regards to the shipping venture we’d discussed previously,” Peter says.

 _That’s because my father and I would rather not do business with you at all_ , Stiles thinks. It’s taken a few years, but he’s learned how to keep his mouth shut in these kinds of situations.

“Are you still looking for investors, then?” Stiles asks, looking out over the dark gardens, mind wandering already.

“Just a few,” Peter says, turning to face Stiles, hip leaning against the railing, “but we’re always looking for more. Derek had mentioned you and your father favorably, and I understand that you’re looking to diversify.”

“Lord Hale mentioned us? In what context?” Stiles asks, feeling his heart start to pick up.

“Just that you both make wise investments and have a good mind for business. You’ve invested with him previously, have you not?”

Stiles nods. It had been years ago, just a small sum of money to help Derek start a railway line from The Hills, the Hale family estate and villages, to one of the larger towns nearby. At the time, Stiles hadn’t thought anything of it, wanting to help one of his closest friends. Now, it sits in his chest like a heavy lump, just another stone on the grave of what used to be.

“It was nothing,” he says, standing. “Just a small sum. A shipping line would be a much more significant amount. One that I cannot agree to without consulting with my father.”

He clasps Peter’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

“I will speak with him on your behalf,” Stiles says, letting his arm drop, “but I make no promises. Now, I saw Lady McCall eyeing you earlier, and I just happen to be friends with her son.”

Peter grins, but something about it doesn’t reach his eyes. Stiles feels an unexplainable frisson of fear skate down his back, but he shakes it off.

 _I’ll make sure to discuss things with Father in the morning_ , he thinks, walking back into the loud, brightly lit ballroom. _No reason to worry now_.

* * *

Peter comes stumbling into the house in the dead of the night. Derek’s up in the study, finishing some of the paperwork for a new mine he’d purchased the month before. His uncle falls into the softly lit room, grinning and reeking of liquor.

“Nephew mine!” He cheers before falling gracelessly onto a sofa under the window. “Why am I not surprised to see you working hard?”

“Why am I not surprised to see you drunk?” Derek responds, refusing to look away from his work. The numbers blur a little and he rubs his eyes, sighing. “What do you want, Uncle?”

“Can I not talk to my own family without there being an ulterior motive? Perhaps I just want to… catch up.” He kicks his feet up onto one of the arm rests, his boots shedding dirt on the brocade.

“At this time of night? I doubt it.” Derek sighs again and slams the ledger shut. “If there’s something you want, just say it. Otherwise, find your way to your rooms and out of my sight.”

Peter rolls his eyes, then sits up.

“Always so serious, Derek. It’s no wonder you lost the Stilinski boy, the way you carry on.”

“What did you say?”

“Stilinski,” Peter smirks. “I’d never have been able to snatch him up if you hadn’t done your absolute best to make sure your interest was unknown. And he’s such a… delightful young man. Very flexible.”

“Mind yourself, Uncle. You’re stepping close to insult.” Derek stands. He feels something curling in his gut, something hot and painful. He convinces himself it’s anger and not loss.

“Oh, no insult, none at all. We can’t all be lucky in love, after all. Someone must lose if someone’s to win a heart.” Peter stands then brushes a negligent hand over his coat. He shakes the lapels, then stands straight and tall, all signs of drunkenness gone.

“You know how to win it back,” Peter says, walking slowly towards Derek until the desk is directly between them. The candle flame catches his eyes, glinting cold and golden in the flickering light.

“I’ll not _pay you_ for him,” Derek says, fists clenched. “I’ll not have you throw him off over a little coin, and the thought that you’d give him up so carelessly-”

“Derek,” Peter says, “child, calm yourself. It wouldn’t be careless. Heartless, perhaps, but there would be much care taken.”

Derek reaches across the desk, grabbing Peter’s cravat in his hand, knuckles white and face red.

“You watch your tone.”

Peter has the decency to look frightened, if only slightly, and fumbles at Derek’s hands, trying to loosen his grip. Derek feels the anger roiling in his blood and fights it back, throwing Peter away from himself.

“Just go,” he says, running a hand over his face, eyes closed tightly, “before I kill the only family I have left.”

“Fine,” Peter spits, straightening his cravat and jacket, “but don’t forget.”

He storms out of the room, then pauses in the doorway.

“We both have something the other wants. There’s only a short amount of time where a peaceable trade can be arranged. All’s fair in love and war, after all.”

Derek freezes, then turns towards the doorway.

Peter’s already gone.

* * *

John is buried in books at his desk when Stiles walks in the following morning. His glasses have slid down his nose, just short of falling off his nose.

“Father,” Stiles says, settling in one of the two chairs in front of John’s desk, “I’d like to speak with you, if you have a minute.”

John looks up past the edge of his glasses, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know that you’ve ever requested permission to speak before. You usually just start and wait for me to catch up.” He smiles, then leans back in his chair. “What do you need, Stiles?”

“I was approached at the ball last night by Peter Hale-”

His father groans and rubs his eyes.

“I’ve told you before, I’d rather throw all of our money into the sea than invest in his flights of fancy.”

“In this case, you might be able to accomplish both. He’s looking to start up a shipping line.” Stiles smiles and leans back, crossing his legs.

“Good of him to try and save me time,” John says, smiling, “but I’ll refrain.”

“I told him I’d talk to you about it,” Stiles says. “I can now cross it off of my list for the day.”

“What about the other Hale, Derek? He’s got a sound head on his shoulders. Why aren’t we investing with him?”

John’s already bent back over his papers and misses Stiles’ wince at Derek’s name.

“I’m afraid he wants to kill me, actually.” Stiles sighs and starts to rise.

“How’d that happen? You two were pretty close, weren’t you?”

Stiles shrugs. “These things happen, I guess. Peter’s tried to explain it to me before, but I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. Something about slights and offenses and all that rot. All I know is that Lord Hale avoids me whenever we’re at the same social functions, and if I do happen to run across him, he runs in the opposite direction.”

“That’s a shame,” John says, speaking more to himself than Stiles. “I’d take anything Peter Hale says with a grain of salt, but if you haven’t been able to talk to Derek about it, you’d best not rile him up. Those Hales are known for their tempers.”

“Yes. I do remember what they did to the Argents a few years back.”

John hums in agreement, engrossed again in his work.

“I’ll just see myself out,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, just stay out of trouble,” John calls after him, waving him away.

“I’ll do my utmost best, Father,” Stiles says, smiling. He hears his father laugh from the hallway.

“I’ll get the bail ready, then!” John shouts, and Stiles is laughing as he steps through the front door and onto the street.

It’s a beautiful day out, and Stiles takes the opportunity to walk to Hyde Park. It’s a bit of a trek from the home he shares with his father, but with the cool bite of autumn tinging the air, Stiles barely notices the exertion.

The park is filled with gentle folk, members of the _tonne_ milling around. There are groups of laughing ladies, parasols blocking the sun from their faces. A few gentlemen ride through, their mounts tossing their heads and snorting into the cold air. All around, the trees are brushed in streaks of amber and red, leaves covering the still-green grass in riotous piles of color. The paths are mainly clear, but every once in a while, a stray breeze kicks up, throwing leaves into the air and onto the gravel paths. It all crunches beneath Stiles’ boots, and he smiles, enjoying the brief respite from the chaos of London.

He slowly wanders until he reaches the Serpentine, its cool waters sparkling beneath the stone bridge that spans it. There are ducks and geese floating around serenely, ducking back and forth beneath the bridge. A young lady and her daughter stop to throw bread crumbs into the water. The girl’s giggles carry down to where Stiles is standing, and he turns to watch as she points excitedly at the water fowl frolicking about beneath her, fighting over bits of crust.

He’s preoccupied, which is the only reason he doesn’t react sooner to the person leaning on the rail next to him.

“Lord Stilinski,” a familiar voice says, just a little gruff and stilted, “how are you doing this morning?”

It’s Derek, and Stiles jumps slightly, straightening and sketching a quick bow.

“Lord Hale,” he says, and he mentally shakes himself at the slight breathy quaver in his voice, “I’m doing fine, sir. And yourself?”

Derek’s wearing a green jacket that sets off the color of his eyes. It’s pinched in at the waist, accenting his broad chest and long legs. Stiles brings his gaze back to Derek’s eyes, fighting the urge to let them linger.

“I’m well,” Derek says. “I’m surprised to see you out so early, considering when Peter came home last night.”

“I don’t know why Peter’s activities would concern me. When I left him, he was chatting happily with Lady McCall.”

Derek frowns.

“You don’t have any issue with your betrothed spending time with eligible ladies? I’m surprised. I always figured you would have a… possessive streak.” Derek tips his head, and starts to step away. “I will see you around, I assume.”

“Wait, hold on just a moment,” Stiles says, grabbing at Derek’s sleeve. The girl and her mother look up, frowning at Stiles’ outburst.

“Just, come with me, please.” Stiles tugs on Derek’s arm, pulling him towards the shaded lane leading up to the bridge. “I’m not betrothed, especially not to your uncle.”

Derek stumbles and pulls his arm free, but follows Stiles. They find a bench, walking in silence while Stiles tries to figure out what to say.

“Lord Hale,” he starts, then stops, shaking his head. “No, _Derek_. I am not nor have I ever been betrothed to your uncle. We’re acquaintances and nothing more.”

Stiles looks up, and he’s surprised to see Derek smiling. It’s wide and open, eyes crinkled in clear joy.

“You’re serious?” Derek asks, still grinning. “You’re not betrothed?”

“No, I’m not.” Stiles says, fighting the urge to smile back. He’s confused more than anything, but the happiness radiating from Derek is infectious. He feels the corners of his mouth lift, just slightly.

“Who told you we were betrothed?”

“Peter,” Derek says, frowning for a moment. “I don’t know why he would tell me that, not when he knew…”

“Knew what?” Stiles ask, the words catching in his throat.

Derek starts to grin again, and he reaches forward to clasp Stiles’ hands in his.

“Knew that I was, and am, irrevocably and painfully in love with you.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands, grinning.

“I thought you hated me,” he says, shifting closer.

“Far from it, I’m afraid.” Derek says, reaching up to brush Stiles’ cheek. “I’d thought I’d lost my chance.”

“Never,” Stiles laughs. “I’m just as lost. I didn’t know why you’d pulled away, but it was driving me to distraction that I couldn’t speak with you, couldn’t tell you how I felt.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, completely engrossed in the other. They must look ridiculous, Stiles thinks, but he can’t make himself care.

Eventually, Derek lets Stiles’ hands drop and steps back.

“Why would Peter do all of this?” Derek asks, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I don’t particularly care at this moment.”

Derek blushes, but grins again. “That’s… Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about Peter,” Stiles adds. “My father and I weren’t planning on investing with him. I’ll talk to him, I don’t think we have much to worry about.”

“No, I don’t believe we do. Shall I… May I court you?” Derek asks, fumbling.

Stiles beams.

“I would like that, yes.”

Derek smiles back, then offers his arm.

“Shall we?”

Stiles slides his hand into the crook of Derek’s arm, then laughs. “Yes, let’s.”

* * *

Peter answers the front door when Derek and Stiles arrive. He looks surprised, but covers it quickly.

“Lord Stilinski, Derek.” He steps to the side, waving them in.

“Peter,” Stiles says, sliding his hand from Derek’s arm. “I believe you and I have some business to discuss?”

Peter smiles, shutting the door quietly.

“Yes, of course. Let’s step into the study.”

Derek presses his fingers against the back of Stiles’ hand, smiling softly, and steps further into the house. “Find me when you’re done?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, grinning. If he watches Derek as he disappears down the hall, eyes lingering on the long lines of him, no one is there to judge.

Peter is seated behind the desk when Stiles walks into the room, a chair pulled up before it. Stiles sits, then leans back.

“It looks like you and Derek are getting along well,” Peter says, mouth curled into a small smile.

“Yes,” Stiles says, laughing. “It seems he somehow thought that you and I were betrothed. However do you think he got that idea?”

Stiles isn’t laughing now.

“I don’t know for certain,” Peter says, laying his hands on his desk. “I thought we had business to talk about.”

“Yes, of course.” Stiles pushes himself to his feet and leans across the desk. “My father and I will be investing our money in other projects, I’m afraid. In fact, I don’t think we’ll ever invest with a man who’s so willing to lie about serious matters such as marriage. You can find your money elsewhere.”

“Don’t think I’ll forget this, Stilinski,” Peter says, his voice tight with barely banked fury.

“I don’t imagine I shall,” Stiles replies, turning around. “As I believe our families will be linked in the near future, we’re likely have this conversation again. Good day.”

Stiles walks out of the study as calmly as he can, then immediately starts fuming, hands waving as he silently berates Peter. Derek eventually finds him in the kitchen, scowling into a cup of tea.

“Shall I ask what’s wrong, or would you prefer I not?” He asks, sitting next to Stiles.

“I’d prefer your uncle find a well to fall down,” Stiles says. “We can’t trust him, Derek.”

Derek nods and pours himself a cup of tea. “No, we can’t. I haven’t in a long time.”

Stiles takes an angry sip of tea, then puffs out a breath as it burns his tongue.

“When we get married, he’s moving out,” Stiles says, pouting.

“When we get married, hmm?” Derek asks, smiling and leaning back in his chair, tea cup balanced delicately on his fingers.

“I mean… Pretend I didn’t say that.” Stiles sighs and rubs his eyes.

“I’d prefer not to, actually.”

When Stiles looks up, Derek’s already leaning in. He tastes a little like sugar and black tea, his lips soft against Stiles’. Stiles sinks into the kiss, losing himself in the press of skin against skin. When Derek pulls back, his cheeks are stained red and his eyes are just this side of glassy.

“We have other things to worry about,” he says, starting to smile. “After all, we have a wedding to plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they have a massive wedding, and Peter gets kicked out of the house (but just to a different one; even though he's a jerk, he's the only family Derek has), and everyone lives happily ever after.
> 
> Thanks to keriArentikai and virtualisedDon for all of their help and cheerleading. Love you guys SO MUCH.
> 
> I'm going on a brief hiatus from fic, as I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month this year. If you want any updates, you can follow [my tumblr](http://p1013.tumblr.com).


End file.
